Fragments of Memory
by tehPrincess
Summary: Lady Hawke/Fenris collection of one-shots. Silliness, smut, fluff, angst, and anything else my muse can dream up. Rated M for violence, sensuality, and sexual content.
1. Irresistible Grasp

_A/N: This is essentially going to be a collection of everything Fenris/femHawke that I write. I like to think of them as one-shot pieces, but some will probably link together. From time to time, I may skip from a rogue to a mage Hawke, depending on what suits the story better. I know going into this that most of these are going to be pretty dark, with only a bit of fluff to lighten things up a little, and a lot of smut. I'll try desperately to get some plot in there, I promise. ;)_

_Description: Late, late Act 2. Confrontation with Gascard DuPuis following 'All That Remains'. Hawke had Gascard help find Leandra, and he survived the encounter._

_Warnings: Sensuality and mild violence._

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><p><strong>Irresistible Grasp<strong>

Fenris's fingers sank through the soft layers of flesh and tissue, stopping within the chest cavity as he reached the plump beating organ he sought.

He knew just how far he could twist, how to bring the sniveling mage to his knees without making it fatal. Squeezing the slimy lump of meat, he tugged slightly, causing it to pound faster as the man gasped for breath on the end of Fenris's arm.

He felt almost detached about what he was doing. He'd done this so many times before, it was hardly interesting. It had taken practice, a lot of unintended deaths, as he'd learned a whole new set of rules regarding depth perception and anatomy.

It was so fragile, this thing that kept the mage alive. Pulling too much could snap any of the numerous and vital threads that held it in place, spreading life and blood throughout the stooping figure before him. It was like handling an overripe tomato, a little press of his thumb would leave a devastating impression.

The mage coughed, squealing in pain as he knelt in the dirt at their feet.

"I'm sorry! I lied!" he said pathetically.

Fenris released him, feeling his lip curl as the glowing blue of his skin calmed and faded. The mage, with his fancy hair and clothing, cowered in the mud. It was almost disappointing that he'd given in so easily.

"I knew Quentin all along," he gasped. "It was never about revenge." Hawke took a menacing step toward the shaking man, and his hands came up in a defensive gesture. "K-killing me won't bring your mother back," he stammered.

Hawke's black brows met over angry eyes. Fenris could sense the conflict within her. She strove, in all things, to do what she felt was "right". White teeth sank into her full lower lip and he knew what she was considering as she weighed the consequences, cause and effect, everything that had occurred and what could follow, pondering the risks.

Fenris wanted to intercede. He imagined saying, _"Kill him, and have done with it."_ But this was something she needed to decide for herself.

She was too soft on people. But then, ever since Leandra's death, she hadn't been quite the same.

"No, it won't bring her back," she said with a steady voice. "But it will make me feel better."

"Please! I have money! I'll, I'll make it up to you, I swear!" he yelled in desperation, trembling all over.

Hawke shook her head. "This isn't something that you can make up for."

A flash as light glinted on the metal of the small blade she concealed within the folds of her robes, the one she brought out on special occasions. It was ornate and deadly, probably imbued with poison or enchanted. It took life at an amazing rate for something so small.

She knows just where to stick the knife. She's trained with it, learned how to bring a mercifully quick death to those who earned it. Hawke moved close to the man, almost embracing his right shoulder with her left hand. The mage struggled, cringing away as the blade slid into the sweet spot, low on his left side. Hawke used it quickly, pushing deep and twisting a bit to make sure the job was done.

It was over before the mage had time to react to the pain. He fell, soundless and final.

Hawke's expression remained stony, dispassionate. She leaned down, wiping the blood from her blade onto the dead man's shirt, then tucked it back inside her clothing, her movements clinical and efficient. Turning on her heel, she strode briskly away, leaving the body where it lay.

No one would care in these dark places.

Fenris followed at a respectful distance. They traveled a short while before she entered a deep bend in one of the walls, moving into a secluded alleyway. Fenris pursued, stopping when she turned on him abruptly.

Her face was stricken.

"I did the right thing," she said. She needed to reassure herself as well as him, he thought, which was unnecessary.

His eyes met hers, hoping to convey the truth of his words. "He was a blood mage. He needed to die." He should have just killed the man himself. He would have, and gladly, if only to spare her this pointless guilt.

"You don't agree with what I did. Before, I mean. When I let him use blood magic to help me find my mum."

She may have been looking to fight with him. He wondered if reassurance or honesty would be better here. "Why did you do it?" he asked. She was a mage, but he'd thought she was stronger than that. She'd never advocated such dark dealings before, indeed she'd been swift to voice her anger and dismay when they'd encountered displays of that nature. But maybe all mages were alike. The difference was only in what it would take.

She huffed, causing the hair that touched her face to flutter. "_I_ didn't use blood magic. And he was already doing that sort of thing, anyway." Her cheeks pinkened, as if she knew how flimsy her reasoning was. "I needed to find her as quickly as possible." She met his gaze, her face setting with determination. "Look, I knew as I asked him to do it that it was hypocritical and wrong. But I didn't care."

Fenris shook his head. "That's how it always starts." Cynicism colored his voice. He moved closer to her in the shadows of the concealed alley. "And a lot of good it did, too."

Her eyes flashed at him, her mouth working as she struggled with her words. She was still mad at him, for things past. Disagreeing with her now only served to open old wounds. Bracing her legs apart, her palms came up, and resting them on his chestplate, she _shoved_. "Shut your blighted mouth," she sneered.

Fenris reacted. Before he knew what was happening, he had her pressed up against the cold wall, one strong thigh between her legs, lifting her from the ground as his arms held her immobile. He took a deep breath and the scent of her flooded his flaring nostrils, tendrils of sensation caressing his memories.

Things weren't settled between them. But maybe they didn't need to be.

Her eyes had grown hooded, passion clouding her face, just as he remembered.

"You are the most infuriating woman it has ever been my misfortune to know, Hawke." She seemed to delight in antagonizing him. There was simply no way for her to be pushing his buttons this much without trying.

Her breathing was ragged, her chest heaved as she clenched her teeth at him. "I don't care. The truth is, I don't regret it. And I'd do it again if it meant the chance to save someone I love." She took a deep breath, meeting his gaze with intensity. "I'd do it again for you."

He felt his teeth grind, anger flooding him in a quicksilver rush. She'd learned nothing from it. She'd danced around the Black City's seductive power, and in the end, courting such unimaginable danger hadn't made any difference. She was threatening to repeat her mistakes. For him. Never for him.

"_Fasta vass_," he swore, shaking her until her head snapped back.

Again, he moved without thinking. He didn't know what he was going to do, aside from try very hard not to kill her, as his head moved toward her.

He smashed his mouth against hers, pouring all of the frustration and guilt into a devastating kiss. He'd tried to comfort her back when it happened, he wanted to now. He needed to make her see reason, she had to accept how foolish she was being, about the blood magic and about him. But he didn't know how.

This couldn't continue. She couldn't be careless or self-destructive on behalf of him and what he couldn't give her.

She responded to him, her mouth hungry on his, pushing the softest parts of her against him. Her gloved hands clutched at his shoulders as she desperately tried to align their mouths.

Fenris swore again in Tevinter, wanting everything he couldn't have.

For just a moment more, he let the ache wash over him, pushing himself into her, grinding her softness into the wall.

His mouth broke free and he leaned his forehead against hers. They breathed deeply into each other's faces, trying to calm themselves.

He felt so much regret, clouding everything as he opened his eyes to look at her.

Fenris slowly eased his grip, allowing her feet to slide down to the ground, and let her stand on her own. Her face held a mixture of bitterness and reproach.

"That was a mistake. Accept my apologies," he said, determinedly meeting her eyes. He wanted to look away, and pain lanced him as she smiled sadly.

"If only you didn't think that was so."


	2. Touch

_A/N: Short piece is short, but I think it works better that way._

_Description: Cuddly fluffy Fenris hands. Takes place any time after the Act 3 reconcile._

_Warnings: Sensuality._

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><p><strong>Touch<strong>

Removing his gauntlets is almost a ritual. Still warm from his body, she touches them with care, minding the sharp edges.

Sliding them down his forearms and all the way off, she places them neatly aside with the sound of clinking metal, staring at his newly bared flesh, as if what she's revealed is an intimate part of him. And perhaps it is.

Placing her hands gently against his, she holds them up, palm to palm. Their differences help define them. He's bigger than her, harder, and darker, the strength a living thing within him.

His fingers curl against hers as he marvels at how fragile and yet how necessary she is.

She grasps one naked hand in hers, bringing it close. She's only seen glimpses of them before, brief flashes at times he's torn his gloves off, frantic to feel them against the hottest parts of her body.

The desperation and frenzy has its place for them, but this time is for her, fervid and slow.

His lyrium markings swirl in delicate shapes, loops running up his arms, across his shoulders, the very top of his chest, down his legs and across his feet. The lines on his palms are concentrated, bunched together.

She stares in wonder, turning his hand to trace the bones of his fingers and the large knuckles, rubbing the back of his hand with soft fingertips, light touches on his well-trimmed nails.

She drags the roughest parts of his fingertips against her, loving the rasp of it. She rubs his hand against her cheek, across her soft lips, lightly kissing. Tracing her lips once, twice, before her mouth opens.

Sliding one digit into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it, then sucking on him with long pulls that he feels in other parts of his body.

Her touch on the brands themselves is a contradiction, the lyrium pulses uncomfortably, bringing a biting echo of pain, and the memory of pain, but an exciting pleasure all at once. He itched with the need to touch her, to feel her soft caresses on every part of him.

Pulling his finger from her mouth with a 'pop', she trails the damp digits across her face and down her chin, along the smooth column of her neck.

The back of his fingers feel the brush of her hair. His fingers twitch, tingling as they map the soft curve of her cheek, down to the hollow of her throat. So much life there.

She continues across her bare chest, filling his palm with the warmth of one full breast. The tip peaks, pushing against one thin white line.

His jaw flexes, he hisses through gritted teeth as his fingers clench, giving her an involuntary squeeze.

She shudders with pleasure.

He was never meant for this. To see his calloused hands, hands that had taken the lives of so many, against the softest parts of her, the trust, the affection, calls out to something primitive and savage inside him, something buried and forgotten.


	3. Green is the Color

_A/N: I love Isabela. I do. But Fenris/Isabela = DoNotWant. And even without the "See you tonight" banter, there's a lot more innuendo between the two in-game than I'd like. I'm sure part of it is because I heart Fenris, but I'd like to think it's also because I kinda-sorta ship Isabela with Carver. Like a LOT. :)_

_Description: Jealousy rears its ugly head. Time frame is early Act 2, following the Deep Roads expedition, and before the romantic hook-up._

_Warnings: One mildly offensive curse word._

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><p><strong>Green is the Color<strong>

Hawke quietly entered the Hightown estate, stepping over the same rotting corpses and moldering piles of refuse that had been there on her first visit, years before. Her gaze wandered over the interior of Fenris's "rightfully stolen" mansion, feeling her lip curl with disgust. Her eyes had to adjust to the gloom, as there was no light to chase away the shadows save for the muted glow of a handful of tallow candles.

Hawke was learning to live in style, but this place, in many ways, was even worse off than Gamlen's little shack had been. And that was saying something.

The growing aversion on her face had less to do with her surroundings than it did with something else, however. The fact that Fenris chose to live this way was not really something she could understand, but she could appreciate that these decisions were made by choice, and perhaps that was what mattered.

No, her current disquiet was caused by the sound of her buxom friend's voice, and then, as she moved deeper into the house, the sight of the woman who was currently engaged in a tête-à-tête with the prevailing object of Hawke's enamored affections. She couldn't quite catch what was being said, only the intimate tone and Isabela's husky laughter.

She felt like an intruder, which only served to rankle her nerves all the more. She cared for them both, but what was going on between the two, that they'd appear so close? What had they been up to while she'd been away?

Hawke had tried to display her interest in the elf, while remaining subtle. She'd been enjoying the game. But had she misread _his _interest? Isabela was a beautiful woman, and skilled. Maybe the Rivaini pirate held more appeal with her sensual appearance and roguish ways. A far better match for Fenris than a mage, to be sure. Hawke didn't much care for the feelings it stirred when she compared herself to the other woman.

She watched as Isabela ran one dusky finger up the side of Fenris's chin, and felt her patience snap. She cleared her throat, loudly, noticing that neither of them so much as looked abashed as they stepped away from each other.

"Am I interrupting?" she asked, proud that her voice had come out sounding light.

"Hmm... well, no. I do believe that we're quite finished, for now." Isabela gave the elf a saucy wink and strolled in Hawke's direction.

Hawke found herself annoyed for the first time ever by the other woman's exaggerated sway, but forced a smile as she met Isabela's dark eyes as she came closer before sidling past and heading for the door. The snap as it closed behind her was loud in the ensuing silence, final.

She felt her brows creep toward her hairline in question as she turned to look at Fenris. She'd felt the intense need to _see_ him. She had no pithy excuse to do so, aside from maybe inviting him along for some upcoming work. That was important, right? "I wanted to check in. I haven't seen you in a while." She looked around a bit at the crumbling paint and dust-covered floors. "You don't seem to have settled in."

He shrugged. "This place will do as well as any. For now. But I see no reason to square things away more than I have to."

Hawke hadn't meant to make him justify the state of the mansion to her. She walked toward a table with a bottle of wine and a dusty goblet on its scarred surface. Picking up the tumbler, she swiped at the dust before filling it. Recognizing the need for her hands to find busy work, she brought it to her lips, drinking deeply.

She looked down at the dark red liquid and asked, "So... um, what have you been up to? Anything I should know, er... that you want to tell me?"

Moving closer, he waited until she met his gaze. "What's this about, Hawke?"

She felt her throat tighten and cleared it. "Why was Isabela here? You two spend a lot of time alone? I mean, together?"

He looked mildly surprised as he answered. "She was just here to give me some friendly advice." He chuckled a little. "We were talking about what _you_'ve been up to, actually. You seem to be spending an awful lot of time with that mage."

"Anders? I... well, I guess I've been helping him out, sure. I owe him a lot for saving my brother during the expedition. I'm grateful. But it's not like that. At all." Now she felt like_ she_ was the one doing something untoward. She smiled reassuringly at him, deciding to jump in with both feet. "I'm more the warrior type. I like men with strong hands and piercing green eyes." Her expression changed as she remembered Isabela's hands on his face. "Look, I'm not an idiot. I can see that Isabela is interested in you. I wanted to be sure it wasn't... I mean, are you two..?"

"She did... uh... make me an offer," he said, his tone tinged with embarrassment.

_That **bitch**_, she thought. "I see."

"But it was an offer that was easy to refuse." He moved closer. His eyes were the most fascinating shade of green she'd ever seen, like rich forest grasses after rain. "Trust me, Hawke, you have nothing to worry about."

She scoffed. "As if." But as she turned her head to the side so he wouldn't see it, a smile spread across her face. She did trust him. And that was a wonderful thing all on its own.


	4. Zephyr

_A/N: This piece was written for a dear friend, although I'll admit, it's probably high time I wrote Fenris-smut._

_Description: Act 3, post-reconcile summery-themed sexy times._

_Warnings: Smut. Sensuality and sexual content._

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><p><strong>Zephyr<strong>

The soft breeze caressed Hawke's skin, firing her blood as she looked into intense green eyes. She inhaled deeply, breathing in an intoxicating blend of Fenris and traces of embriums as he brushed lingering kisses over her lips.

The wine bottle sat uncorked and forgotten next to their makeshift nest of blankets and pillows, cushions and bedding they'd brought out onto the roof of the elf's Hightown mansion. The Kirkwall evening surrounded them, the night sky alight with a million stars. They were high enough to see the entire city, she'd murmured more than one whimsical "I can see my house from here" into the delicious skin at his throat as they'd stood looking down on the view these past few months.

An abandoned book lay beside a plate of fruit and cheese, with a single unlit candle to read the pages by, as brief touches and smiles turn to something more.

The wind kept them company, offering relief from the summer heat. It touched her brow, gently playing through her hair as his mouth wandered over her face, and down to her neck. Strong hands followed the lines of her body through her clothing, loosening ties and buttons, freeing her flesh to the air and his gaze.

Their attraction wasn't something that had grown over time, it was innate, an instinctual force that drew them together.

Her thumbs traced dark eyebrows, moving down over defined cheekbones. She cupped his head in her hands, reaching to touch his pointed ears with her fingers. Her touch was like a whisper, gentle and sure, discarding armor and smallclothes until they had nothing between them.

His swarthy skin contrasted sharply with hers, so pale, like his hair and markings, the whiteness nearly glowing in the darkness.

The wind was there, teasing their fevered flesh as his kisses grew deeper, making her feel shaky and weak, his calloused hands touching her everywhere she needed them to. He pushed her breasts together, his mouth moving down to lick then bite with sharp white teeth before drawing her in, his sucks sending ripples all throughout her being until she felt it in her toes.

She softly trailed over his brands, the lines running over his arms and across his shoulders.

He shuddered in pleasure-pain, his grip so firm and wonderful on her bottom as he pulled her into the cradle of his hips. The straining muscles in his chest and belly quivered under her touch as his hands moved over her, caressing her intimately, a soft exploration of everything she was.

She felt her mouth fall open as he pushed a finger inside her. Blindly, she reached for the hardest part of him, squeezing him in answer as she lost herself in his kiss.

He lifted her knees, making room for himself as he swept into her.

She cried out against his mouth, clutching at his shoulders as he set a frenzied rhythm, driving her into the blankets with his strokes. His groans were deep and animalistic, rumbling in his chest, the sounds filling her ears before the world slipped away entirely. She clenched around him, her body humming as her nails sank into his back.

His hand came up to her throat, clenching just under her chin as answering pulses moved from his body to hers.

She gasped for breath, watching his teeth clench around a grunt of satisfaction.

Then, the soft air was there, cooling them both as they enjoyed the afterglow, whispering words of love as they looked to the future, and he held her like he'd never let go.


End file.
